


then fall

by Fluffifullness



Series: Tumblr MakoHaru Festival [9]
Category: Free!
Genre: Angst, Chronic Illness, Dark, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, One Shot, Prompt Fic, Tumblr: makoharufestival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-01-29
Packaged: 2018-01-10 13:19:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1160173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fluffifullness/pseuds/Fluffifullness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He can tell without looking that Makoto aches to ask, but he doesn’t take that step. Instead he rises to his feet and offers Haru a hand up – and Haru takes it, only that tinge of fear, the memory of immobility stops him for a moment and he falters on one knee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	then fall

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "losing hope" challenge of the [makoharu festival on tumblr](http://makoharufestival.tumblr.com/). I'll return to writing more fluff after this, but fair warning that this one is pretty dark and you may want to double-check some of those tags before reading.

The waves are quiet today. It hardly even occurs to Haru that that might be a little weird – the wind coming as fast as it is, kicking up a fine spray of wet salt and sand, sun and gray clouds and blue sky mingling like the surface of a drink left half-blended. He’s alone, too, and for some reason the rough in-out of his own breathing is louder than anything else.

He shivers, anticipation. His toes tear into wet sand, and the blurred horizon tilts. The sky disappears and then there’s no more wind to sting his cheeks or force his eyes into a squint – he can see everything, thick cords of green seaweed, schools of fish and color, color everywhere, blue streaked with the reds and yellow-orange of sunlight. He draws the dive out, deeper, and when there’s nowhere left to go he turns and kicks once, powerfully, at the clear sand and discarded shells beneath him.

He doesn’t quite go up for air, though. He doesn’t need to breathe, not yet, so he skims the surface, rocked by waves until he’s moved past them into calmer water, smooth and deep and the way it weaves itself through his fingers like a sheet, a friendly stranger’s lukewarm fingers.

He raises his head mid-stride to draw a breath – but – his legs freeze in place suddenly, and for one stomach-churning moment he has to claw himself up with his arms alone, choking and then finally opening his mouth wide, air oxygen lungs full chest relaxing.

The water closes over him again, but now the sun’s dipped behind the spinning clouds – he sees them, he can see them, but it’s getting harder, the water fading from glowing transparence to translucence to verging on opaque, sand and bits of broken shell – they’re cutting at his skin. He’s used to holding his breath, floating cut-stringed with a narrow margin of control, surrender, but that’s familiar and this is strange, unnerving.

He can’t see. He can’t _breathe,_ his head hurts and his mouth opens accidentally to suck down a frigid mix of more sand than water and he can’t move his arms anymore, either, he’s just sinking, _paralyzed –_

The word shocks him awake.

His eyes flutter uncertainly until he realizes that Makoto is there, inches away, and he’s saying something – but Haru can’t understand a word of it, still can’t breathe enough to say so. He thinks he can hear himself trying to, but the sound reminds him of a fish flopping around on dry land. His throat hurts, feels like he’s been screaming. He’s sure he hasn’t, but then he wonders how Makoto heard him. Did he wake Ran and Ren, too?

No, that’s impossible – this is Haru’s house and Makoto is the one spending the night, this time because Haru practically begged him to, because he was scared, because –

– because that dream was as good as real. Because Haru can’t be alone right now.

Makoto’s still holding his shoulders and talking at him, eyes wide, fear-bright. Haru coughs and shudders and strains to make out the words, but he can’t breathe so he can’t listen – he can’t –

“…Haru-chan, hey, don’t panic…breathe, okay? Here, I’ll…just do what I do, okay? In…out…”

Haru nods and tries – really does, but every _in_ just catches in his throat and won’t let him let go. He tries to raise his hands to his throat, mouth, _somewhere,_ but they won’t respond with anything more than sharp, painful spasms – he gasps, shocked, and Makoto runs a hand through his hair.

“Good,” he says gently, “let it go.”

Haru makes a low noise in the back of his throat and barely manages to follow Makoto’s directions.

“Now in,” Makoto prompts him. Haru manages it after some effort, chest tight heart throbbing. He feels like he might pass out.

“I’m –”

“Shhh. Let it go,” Makoto says, voice steady. He looks like he’s regained all of his composure ahead of Haru – so now he’s playing the dutiful older brother, solidly trustworthy and self-confident. “Can you do it on your own?”

Haru nods dazedly and sits back to catch more of his breath – now increasingly fast and hard and desperate, because he can’t get enough of it to relieve the burning in his lungs. He realizes – as his own breathing gradually quiets – that the distant-sounding waves were like that because they were muffled by walls and windows – and he shivers, suddenly and frighteningly grateful for the distance.

“I – I’m afraid,” he breathes, shocked – more to himself than to Makoto. There are some things he should never have to fear, but now – and this –

“What are you afraid of?” Makoto asks patiently. He scoots slightly forward and runs a comforting hand through Haru’s hair – maybe an unusual gesture coming from him, because they both know that Haru doesn’t like to be touched, but for now it’s okay, he likes it. He even sighs and relaxes into his boyfriend’s hand, the warm pressure, the vague tickle.

“Nothing,” he lies as his self-control gradually slides back into place. His chest feels instantly heavy, but he averts his eyes and does his best to ignore it.

He can tell without looking that Makoto aches to ask, but he doesn’t take that step. Instead he rises to his feet and offers Haru a hand up – and Haru takes it, only that tinge of fear, the memory of immobility stops him for a moment and he falters on one knee.

“I can’t,” he rasps. He’s afraid to try.

Makoto looks confused, but he still kneels again so that he’s briefly back at about eye level, Haru breathless and shaking – and then airborne, awkwardly balanced on both of Makoto’s arms until Makoto can clumsily adjust the bend of his knees so that they’re held up by one hand – and Haru’s head more or less on Makoto’s shoulder.

It’s not comfortable, but it feels somehow safer than lying on the floor in a tangle of sheets and panic. Haru draws a sharp breath and looks around at himself and Makoto and their messy, slept-in futons.

“You don’t have to –”

“It’s okay, Haru-chan,” Makoto murmurs. “Wanna go get something to drink? Or a snack?”

“Sure,” Haru says. He tries to ignore the way his voice cracks in the middle, the pool of dread in his stomach, the bloodless feel of his face, frigid cold running all the way up and down his spine.

Makoto eases him down on the couch in front of the TV and shoots him another reassuring smile as he goes to turn it on. He leaves Haru with the remote and Haru doesn’t touch it, doesn’t register any of what flashes past on the screen. Instead, he focuses all of his energy and attention on the muffled sounds of Makoto moving around the kitchen, running water and clattering dishes.

He tries to straighten up a little when Makoto comes back, but the worried look on his boyfriend’s face flattens every lingering ounce of confidence in him.

“Hey,” he chokes, eyes suddenly wet.

“Haru?” Makoto opens and closes his mouth for a moment – searching for the right way to ask the right questions – but in the end he says nothing, just stands and stares helplessly as Haru falls in on himself, tears escaping faster and faster until he’s crying his eyes out, voice muffled by the fist he’s holding to his mouth – _stop,_ he needs to stop, but he can’t remember how to control his body’s immediate response to the fear, disbelief, desperation _it can’t be true –_

Makoto pulls him roughly off the couch, catches him and then holds him tight, one hand playing with Haru’s hair while the other traces patterns on his back. His own breathing is rough getting rougher, but Haru only feels the rise and fall of his chest. He buries his face there and lets himself fall apart.

“Does this have to do with what happened the other day?” Makoto asks long minutes later.

Haru shudders and shakes his head even as he says, “Yes.”

“Where did you go?”

Another shudder. Haru all but gags on the word as he says it.

“Hospital.”

He feels Makoto go instantly tense. His hands stop moving on Haru, and his chest doesn’t rise or fall – but his grip on Haru tightens, and when he talks his voice is carefully controlled, thick with worry. “Is it something serious?”

Deep breath. “I – was dreaming about – about what he said,” Haru says.

“The doctor?”

Haru nods. “I was –” But he stops, pulls away from Makoto just enough that he can look him in the eyes. “Makoto,” he starts again, speaking through the lump in his throat, “what are you going to do?”

“I’ll help –”

“No – in the future. When you’re an adult.”

Makoto smiles in a way that isn’t happy or sad, just maybe forced. “I want a job that can help people,” he says quietly. “I want to study what I need for that job with Haru at the same university. We’ve talked about that, haven’t we?”

“And after?” Haru presses.

“After –? I don’t know,” Makoto admits. “I don’t know where I want to live. Maybe here,” he says, “in Iwatobi. I like that it’s quiet, and we’ve been here forever, after all.” He looks at Haru, more gently this time. “I guess it depends on what you want, too, Haru. All I really need is –”

“Wait,” Haru interrupts, chest tightening more, throat hurting. “I get it.”

“Get what?”

“You” – he swallows back the break in his voice – “you wanted to stay with me. For a long time.”

“Not ‘wanted,’” Makoto says, eyes wide, scared. “That’s what I want now. Nothing would ever feel right –”

“I’m sorry,” Haru rasps.

“Why are you sorry?” Makoto whispers, now more afraid-looking than ever. “You haven’t answered my other question yet. Are you okay?”

“I don’t think it’s gonna happen,” Haru says, no longer totally aware of what Makoto’s saying or whether his own responses match the questions. “He said – maybe five years, if I – if I’m lucky.” He laughs, voice harsh and painful. “If I’m lucky,” he repeats. “I’m not.”

“Five years… for what?”

Haru just looks at him, desperate not to have to say it.

“Oh,” Makoto chokes. “Haru – you – are you really sure?”

“That’s what he told me,” he responds hollowly. “Unless I got _really_ lucky, then” – he lowers his head – “the survival rate’s about ten percent.”

Makoto lets go of Haru slowly, stumbles to his feet and finally manages to turn around – to hide the tears already sparkling in his eyes. Haru remembers his dream suddenly and has to shake his head to clear it – and then Makoto’s back, inches away, kneeling in front of him with both hands on his shoulders. Just like when Haru woke up, drowning in an imagined ocean and every clinically-delivered word of his diagnosis.

“If I – if I lived,” he says. “I wouldn’t be able to swim.” The words hit him again like a ton of bricks, like a wave, but he keeps going through Makoto’s tears and stunned muteness. “My muscles” – he shakes his head – “my – my brain. Even if they stop it, it’ll be bad enough that I definitely won’t be able to walk, or – or write. Maybe even my arms” – _paralyzed,_ he remembers dizzily – “and they can’t undo that.”

Makoto struggles to calm down, catch his breath, relax, but he doesn’t let go of Haru to do it – not this time. His hands stay where they are, strong and warm and every bit of the support that keeps Haru from just crumpling to the floor. He’s crying more than Haru is, though, and his cheeks have gone from pale to pink to a flushed red.

“I – I’m sorry, Haru,” he whispers. “I didn’t know. If I’d said something – about the way you were – oh, _god_.”

“It wouldn’t’ve changed anything.”

“I’m sorry,” Makoto repeats. “I don’t even know what to say. I’ll do anything you want, and – and even if you can’t swim, I’ll help!” He looks desperately at Haru. “I’ll help you! Whenever you want, we can –”

“What? You gonna carry me? Tie a rope to my waist or something?” Haru glares ineffectually at his lap and tries to shrug Makoto’s hands off; the other boy pulls them back himself and makes a little noise like he’s just been slapped. Haru’s chest twists – guilt – and he takes several deep breaths before whispering, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Makoto says softly. “Do you know what you want me to do? Or say?”

“I don’t want to keep pulling you down with me,” Haru says. The words stick in his throat. They push tears down his cheeks, make him want to scream, tear at his stupid, worthless body, cry and cry until all Makoto can do is ignore the words and never leave. “I think we should stop,” and he doesn’t know how he manages to stand up or take several unsteady steps back, away from Makoto. “So you won’t have to watch me – g-go.”

Makoto stands, too, and looks at him like he’s speaking another language. “I can’t do that – Haru, you don’t mean –”

“Ten percent,” Haru reminds him. “You wanna try your luck with someone whose chances are that bad?”

“Yeah, I do! You’re an amazing person, Haru! You can do things no one else can, so if anyone were going to beat this, it’d be –”

“And then I’ll be stuck! In a wheelchair, and I won’t even be able to” – he shudders violently, nearly collapses – “feed myself, or take baths or change my clothes –” He’s forced to finish suddenly as a sob shakes him to the core, stopping his voice and he finally falls to his hands and knees, trembling all over. “I hate this,” he groans, really just a hoarse whisper.

Makoto doesn’t approach him. His hands are fisted at his sides, his eyes hidden by his bangs and the way he’s bent over, teeth buried in his bottom lip.

“Haru – do you trust me?”

“Yeah,” Haru says, and he hates himself for saying it – for saying anything that might keep Makoto here.

“Ignore me, then,” Makoto says tremulously. “What do you want? To be alone?”

“I want that,” Haru whispers.

“Do you?”

“I want – I don’t want it to be my fault,” Haru says, and he imagines Makoto in tears, Makoto standing by his lifeless body, Makoto never quite moving on from something that should never have held him back in the first place. He imagines the alternative, Makoto stuck with him, never quite as whole as he was, never quite happy, more a burden than a real lover. And still an early death, probably – the truth twists at him again, he was never supposed to die like that, he wasn’t supposed to have to think about things like dying so _soon._ “I’m not an amazing person,” he says. “I’m – I’d let you stay if you wanted to. I’m selfish.”

“That’s not selfish,” Makoto says, “it’s normal.”

“You’re the one who’s really amazing, Makoto. You don’t deserve this.” He gestures at himself, his body on its one-way path to falling apart. Makoto deserves so much more, the life he wanted before he knew and a million other things.

“I deserve a choice, though, don’t I? You said you’d let me stay. If you meant that, then there’s no need to talk about it anymore. I love you. I’ll always love you. I don’t want to abandon you when you need me the most.” They’re the kind of things Haru would normally roll his eyes at, scoff, _how can you say anything that embarrassing with a straight face?_

Now, he wants to hear more of it.

And he knows. He knew when he felt like he was falling, when he had to stumble his way past doctors and nurses and antiseptic and through the sliding doors of the hospital, all the way home, when he knocked on Makoto’s door and Makoto answered and Haru lied with his voice – kept it steady, controlled himself and asked until Makoto agreed to stay with him. He knew as he was falling asleep beside his boyfriend, thinking that he had to hide it no matter what, cut himself off before another year went by and he wasn’t just a little uncoordinated, a little unsteady on his feet. He knew going into this conversation, how meaningless it would wind up being, how determinedly Makoto would ruin himself for Haru’s sake. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to resist agreeing, and now he can’t and he nods and he’s _sorry._

Makoto smiles and approaches Haru one more time. “Thank you,” he says, still choked up but more collected than he’d been before. He touches Haru’s face, smears the tears away with the pad of his thumb and then leans in for a kiss.

Haru dodges it. “Don’t,” he says. “You’ll get hurt.”

“No one has to,” Makoto soothes. “We’ll go see another doctor. I’ll go with you. They might have made a mistake, Haru, it happens, and if they didn’t – nothing’s really unfixable. We’ll do everything we can together. I’ll study to become a doctor, and if it takes a little longer because I’m with you, that’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” Haru breathes. “It’s a waste of time.”

“It’s exactly the kind of job I want,” Makoto insists. “And I’d do it for you, Haru, it’d make it all worth it.”

“I might be dead,” Haru whispers, “before you can even finish.”

Makoto looks at him with sad eyes, but it’s not the kind of sadness that reluctantly agrees with Haru; it’s curable sadness, as sure of a way out as it is of the difficulties they’ll both have to learn to deal with. “You won’t.”

“You don’t _know,_ ” Haru argues. “What if you’re wrong?”

“What if I’m right?”

Haru’s breath catches, but he manages to let it go with a sigh. He can feel himself about to cry again, but Makoto’s ready for it; he leans in, and this time Haru doesn’t turn away or struggle as his boyfriend kisses away every last drop – and his nose, his cheeks, his lips, quick kisses that leave him tingling all over, the weight in his stomach alternating between light and heavy _he wants to believe him so badly, he wants to trust Makoto’s version of the world the way he trusts Makoto…_

“If you’re right,” Haru whispers. “I – I want you to be,” because he doesn’t know what he’d do. He’s afraid that imagining it will make him want to believe it, and if he starts doing that, he’ll also start to remind himself about the reality of his situation. The one the doctor lives in, the words and the numbers and the time slipping past, the drowning in his dream.

“I wish you didn’t have to do this at all,” Makoto says suddenly. “I’m sorry it was you and not me, Haru.”

“I wouldn’t want that.”

“I know,” Makoto sighs. “I guess I’d be mad if you said that and our positions were switched.”

“Then don’t say it,” Haru snaps. He realizes then that his tears have stopped. He’s looking at Makoto the way he’s used to looking at him, and Makoto’s smiling – a little muted, but close to normal now – sitting close but not quite touching. It feels like all the other nights they’ve spent together in companionable silence, sometimes playing games or studying, sometimes doing nothing at all but soaking up each other’s warmth.

“How much will things change?” he asks.

Makoto closes his eyes and puts his arms around Haru again. “Hm,” he says thoughtfully, “maybe I’ll get to carry Haru in my arms a little more? You should teach me how to cook, too.”

Haru frowns. He doesn’t like the thought of that – leaving everything up to Makoto, everything he knows how to do for himself just empty memory and useless knowledge –

“Haru,” Makoto sighs sleepily, “it’s not like that. Any couple living together should be able to do things like that for each other, right? It’s only fair.”

“But I might not be able to do those things,” Haru worries.

“That’s okay. Just be there, that’s all. Focus on taking care of yourself and doing what you like.”

“That’s not how sharing works,” Haru argues. “I want to help you back –”

“This, Haru,” Makoto interrupts, hugging Haru tighter. “This won’t change. Rei and Nagisa and Rin won’t change, either. We all care about you, and we’ll all be there to help when you need it. At least,” he murmurs, planting a kiss on the top of Haru’s head, “I will. We’ll watch movies, eat mackerel, graduate, and go on to university. We’ll room together and you’ll go swimming with or without my help – whenever you want, okay? We’ll find a good doctor, and there’ll be treatments that work. And you’ll be okay. You’ll help me decide where to move when we’re both finished with school.”

Haru takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. There’s something shimmering behind the shut lids, bright and distant.

“You can get a job if you’re feeling up to it,” Makoto continues. “If not, you’ll rest at home. And I’ll work. I’ll research everything, so when I come home I might be tired, and you’ll say –”

“Welcome home,” Haru breathes, smiling just a little for the first time all day.

**Author's Note:**

> The post on tumblr is [here](http://makoharufestival.tumblr.com/post/75034911589/challenge-losing-hope-user-fluffifullness?utm_medium=email&utm_source=html&utm_campaign=submission_published&utm_term=respond_link), if you'd like to support me with a like or reblog! :)


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